Logan's Return
by bnanachild
Summary: BLATANT ROGAN! Logan returns for Christmas just to check up on Marie..and finds her less than perfect. Not only is Rogue sure that she is dying of a broken heart but she is also plagued by horrible nightmares that are worrying even Professor Xavier.
1. The Return

Marie

I was 19 and suffering from too much schoolwork and a broken heart. The broken heart was HIS fault, and yet my own. I knew he had never looked at me that way, had only seen me as sometimes a cute distraction and sometimes an annoying tag-along. But at least he had seen me. Now he'd left, maybe forever, and nothing mattered. I had considered running away but couldn't follow him as I didn't know where he was and he wouldn't track me down because he wouldn't know I had gone…or care. So I moped around for a while, felt sorry for myself, and then moved on with my "life" minus the heart he had taken with him.

My friends said I was returning to normal, as if I could ever be normal again! I thought I had at least gotten to the point where I could ignore the dull throb that accompanied any thought of him. I attended class, hung out with friends, and thought about him every other second…I was improving. But Christmas came and most of the kids and teachers left to spend time with family and friends. I was invited to several celebrations but feared being unwelcome, a charity case. So I stayed.

But I was lonely. It hurt, the loneliness that squeezed into my conscious thoughts like being followed around by some stray mutt. I tried to keep busy, keeping the loneliness at bay, but Christmas Eve left the mansion deserted and the stale air gave me a headache.

I escaped out of a side door into the snow-covered yard and made a trail of footprints crunching my way to the gardens. Standing in the still-falling snow, I sighed and let go of all the emotion I had hidden during the past weeks, allowing my tears to follow the drifting flakes and melt dents in the surface of the snow. A gentle breeze blew the crystaline flakes against my cheeks and I shivered, wishing I had brought my coat with me. The thought of having to face the cheery Christmas tree standing in the hall entrance by the closet door, however, halted any wish to return to the warmth of indoors. So I stayed, after a while the cold faded as the hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

Logan

I felt like an idiot coming all the way back just to check on her, to see if she was all right. It was Christmas, with luck she'd be back in Mississippi with family…but I had to be sure. I hopped off my bike the moment the motor stilled and stomped the cold from the long ride away on my way to the front door. With a hand on the heavy brass knob, I pushed and entered the hall I had sworn not to return to until I at least knew more about myself. A huge fir tree stretched to the ceiling, covered in glass balls and red and gold velvet bows.

I WAS an idiot…she was fine even if she didn't make it to Mississippi. Turning, I reached for the door, ready to leave before anyone noticed my presence.

_"She's here, Logan,"_ Charles stated in the silence of my mind.

"That's fine," I replied, out loud, "She's probably busy…I'll go."

_"Rogue is ALONE in the yard,"_ Charles pressed, _"She missed you just as much as you missed her."_ He chuckled, again in my head.

I snarled, "Damn it, Chuck! Stay the fuck out of my thoughts!"

Charles laughed again, _"Logan, I didn't have to. You're here…no telepathy was necessary…"_

Ignoring him and the fact that he was right, I stormed to the nearest door opening to the back yard and walked out. If the door closed loudly behind me, it was no accident. Charles probably laughed again. Walking, I kicked at the snow ahead of me. White snow on black boots…old man and young girl…STOP IT!

There she was…from the back she looked the way I had left her, auburn hair long and beautiful. "Hey kid," I spoke before I could stop myself to think. I just needed to see those deep brown eyes.

She froze- swiped quickly at her cheeks, had she been crying?- and turned. "Logan!" Her excited smile did not hide the redness of her eyes and nose. Damn it, she had!

"Hey now, what's wrong?" I stepped towards her, one hand extended. Big mistake. She gave me a watery smile and took my hand. I pulled her closer to comfort her. Bigger mistake. A shiver coursed through her and I realized she had no coat, only a T-shirt and gloves.

"Where's your coat?" I growled, pulling her to me and rubbing some warmth into her shoulders and back. Biggest mistake. She melted into me and I wanted nothing more than to stay like that forever. "How long have you been out here?" She shrugged against me.


	2. Troubling Tears

Marie

He was here! Logan was here! …to see me? Did it matter? I placed my head against his shoulder as his arms closed around me, feeling- as I always did when he held me- that I belonged there. I thought in his arms that the ache in my heart would stop- but it stayed…got stronger. He came back! Huge sobs threatened to choke me, but I knew Logan hated when I cried.

I tensed against the flood of tears, hoping to avoid crying. Logan felt me tense, though, and pulled away to see my face. If he hadn't looked at me, if his expression had been unconcerned, I might not have cried. But he looked at me, worry written in his eyes, and my resolve melted like the snow on a warm spring day. Pulling out of his grasp, I turned away from him, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed.

"Marie?" He took me by the shoulders and turned me back towards him. "Marie, what's wrong?" His voice was thick with anxiousness and I knew without looking at his expression that my tears were scaring him, but I shook my head, unable to answer. Logan coaxed me to drop my hands from my face and then lifted my chin until I met his gaze. The tears kept rolling down my cheeks; I couldn't stop them.

Logan

Damn it, she was crying again. I wanted to kill whoever or whatever had hurt her like this. "Is it your family?" I asked. She shook her head again. "Someone picking on you?" Not that either. I was beginning to feel like I was playing 20 Questions. "Then what is it, darlin'? You're breaking this old man's heart!"

Marie looked away and whispered in a voice broken by hiccups, "I - I missed - you…"

I cringed, wondering how effective killing myself would be in alleviating the guilt that now coursed through my veins. I had hurt her, caused her to cry. The teardrops had slowed now, her sobs had abated…somehow I didn't feel any better.

Marie shivered then and I suddenly became aware of the slightly blue tint to her lips. "Hey, kid," I growled, grateful for the distraction despite my mounting concern, "You're freezing. Let's get you inside."

"No," she pleaded, "I'm all right, Logan. Please. The emptiness isn't so sharp out here." I cringed again, wondering in how many ways she could drive that guilt straight to my heart. She won, of course. I had no choice.

Taking off my leather jacket, I held it out to her. "At least put this on," I insisted. She did and I let her lead me to a wooden bench nearby. I brushed the snow from the bench, deliberately standing in her way so she couldn't help, then sat with her beside me.

"Where have you been, Logan?" Marie asked, leaning her head against my shoulder.

"Nowhere, really," I answered, thinking back on my fruitless months of searching. "I just traveled around…but I didn't find out anything about my past."

"Mmhmm," she murmured, and I knew she was falling asleep because her almost endless curiosity dug no deeper into my months of absence. This relieved me both because the subject of my past made me feel vulnerable and because when she slept I could get her out of this cold. So I sat in silence for another few moments, lost in my thoughts and disappointments. Then, I lifted Marie into my arms, cradling her against me, and carried her inside.


	3. Nightmares

Marie

I knew I was going to sleep against Logan, but I didn't care enough to fight it. Normally, this would have embarrassed me, but crying had erased all my emotions and energy for the time being. So I let my eyelids drift closed and didn't struggle when Logan lifted me into his arms and carried me inside. Logan's attempt to hold me in one arm and the burst of warm air following this told me we had come inside. Comfortable in Logan's arms and exhausted by my display of emotions, I gave completely in to the temptation of sleep.

_They had him. The shadow figures. I screamed and ran, fought against them, but it was no use. Just as they had a million times before in this dream, the figures grabbed me instead, forcing my hand against Logan's face. Reminding me that I was Logan's real danger. His face contorted with pain, fear. I screamed, struggling to get away. But it was too late. His head rolled back, brown eyes empty. Dead. I screamed again, and again. The screams tore from me, waves of heartbreak. _

Someone shook me to wake me. I sat up and emptied my stomach into the bucket Professor Xavier held for me. This had become somewhat of a nighttime ritual for the professor and I. Tonight we had an addition. Logan. He looked terrified. I felt relieved to see his eyes full of emotion, no matter what kind.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice gone.

The professor smiled. "There's no need," he relied, "If you wouldn't mind staying with Rogue I would appreciate it, Logan." Logan nodded.

"No!" I cried out, irrational fear taking hold of me. What if I hurt him?

"Logan?" he asked, not looking at me.

"I'll stay," Logan answered, gruff voice displaying his rumpled emotions.

Logan

I placed her on the bed, pulling off her shoes like parents did for their kids in sentimental movies, and then tucked her in, resisting the urge to kiss her forehead. Walking down the stairs, I chose a beer from the fridge and vegged in front of the tv until my growling stomach told me it was time for dinner. Marie still hadn't appeared. The kid must have been exhausted. Eventually, I gave up waiting and stretched out along the couch to sleep.

A scream. I woke, disoriented. Where was I? The scream came again. Marie! I bolted up the stairs, baring my claws and ignoring the sting it caused. Entering her room, I almost attacked Chuck.

"What's wrong?"

"A nightmare, Logan. It happens every night. I'm sorry it disturbed you. I should have warned you."

Marie screamed again, her face twisted with unmistakable anguish.

"What the hell? Wake Her!" I yelled, striding for the bed. Something stopped me. Chuck.

"After the fourth scream. If you wake her before then, she just has the nightmare again." He sounded calm but his eyes never left her and I knew he was worried. Which increased my anxiousness.

She screamed again. "Now," Chuck urged, releasing me.

I took her by the shoulders and shook none too gently. "Get out of the way," Chuck instructed. I stepped back just as she sat up and puked into the bucket Chuck extended.

Her eyes found mine, still wide with fear. "I'm sorry," she whispered. I wanted to punch something. She looked so vulnerable. This happened every night? What the hell did she dream about anyway? I zoned out for a minute until the professor said my name. He wanted me to stay with Marie. As if I would leave her again tonight!

"No!" she cried, sounding afraid. Of me? What had I done now?

"Logan?" Chuck asked.

"I'll stay," I growled. Might as well find out what I'd done now. Was it me she dreamed of? I almost laughed at my own vanity.

Chuck wheeled himself out. It was just her and me. Me and her. Again.

"You all right?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She gasped quietly and shrunk away from me. "Whoa, kid!" I stood again. "What's the deal?"

She looked away and her cheeks flushed.

"Marie, look at me." She did…slowly. "I would never, NEVER hurt you."

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. "I- that's not it…" Her head dropped again to inspect her fingers as they twisted her baby blue comforter. I sank down on the bed again and waited. When she began again it was in a whisper. "In my dream, I- you…" She glanced up, pain and fear creasing her forehead and filling her eyes, "You die. And it's my fault."

I tried to brush it off. "It's just a dream, kid."

"No!" she interjected, "You DIE, Logan. I kill you. I don't mean to but I do." She was growing frantic and I fought the urge to stop her. Getting it out might help. "Every night you die because of my- my curse. And it wouldn't be so bad but your eyes- they go empty-" She began to shake and I moved to take her in my arms. She struggled against me, "I'll hurt you! Logan, don't touch me!" I ignored her, pulled her close and moved so that my back was against the headboard. She gave in, laying her head on my shoulder, curling herself to fit beside me. I ignore how we fit together perfectly. Or try, anyway.


	4. Hearts Exposed

Marie

I lay beside Logan, feeling utterly exposed, but somehow I still felt safe being near him. Exhausted but awake. I could never sleep after the nightmare. Apparently Logan had no such problems. His breathing slowed and his head slumped against mine. I smiled and, moving carefully so I wouldn't wake him, shifted so he lay against me instead of vice versa. The tickle of his breath against my neck and thrum of his steady heartbeat reassured me.

As much as I had longed for him during his absence, I never felt as hopeless as now, with him beside me and yet as unreachable as the stars. Yes, I had him beside me, the very thing that I had thought would fulfill my wildest dreams, but my nightgown and gloves remained a constant reminder of my danger to him. Even now, I was hyper aware of his every movement, cautious that Logan might shift and somehow touch my skin. To anyone else, he was indestructible, but with me his life could be as short as a whisper. No, we would have to remain friends. I could not risk his life. Even at the expense of happiness, love, everything.

My heart cried out into the stillness of the night. The tears from earlier were long forgotten. Those had been the product of our temporary separation. Now facing the vast abyss of living beside Logan as only a friend, tears were an emotion too shallow to express my anguish. Oh God, that this night would never end so that I would always have him or that it would end so that I might be distracted from the finality of it all. Untouched by my sorrows, time moved on and after a while the rosy fingers of dawn stained the horizon outside of my window. Morning at last.

Logan

The light woke me, reminding me that -wherever I was- I had not planned on sleeping. I preferred my sleeping quarters cave-like, dark and quiet. So I focused on waking one sense and then another, trying to determine where I was before opening my eyes. Warmth, softness, definitely a bed. Someone's hair tickling me. The slight scent of vomit, so faint that anyone else would not notice. Marie! Wanting to kick myself for having fallen asleep, I instead stretched to warn her that I was waking and yawned.

"Morning, sugar," she greeted me, with a smile that failed to reach her eyes.

"Shoulda woken me, kid," I grunted, "Pretty sure Chuck didn't ask me to stay for a sleep over." I sat up, leaving behind a small drool stain on her shoulder, praying she wouldn't notice.

"No need," she reassured me, "I stayed awake for you. Nothing eventful occurred."

"All night?" I snapped, "Is this regular too? Like the dreams?" Control yourself. Control. I ran a hand over my face, rough with a day's worth of stubble. It was time to tuck my heart back out of sight before she realized how completely it belonged to her already.

Thankfully, she ignored my question. Did that mean I was right?

We sat for another awkward moment before I realized. It was morning, all the boundaries that last night had erased now slid back in place.

"Don't know about you, but I'm starved. See you downstairs." I practically ran for the door. Smooth, I sighed as the door closed, really smooth, Logan, you idiot.

Marie

When the door closed, I collapsed back onto the bed with a silent moan. This was going to be harder than I thought.


	5. Breakfast

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!! By the way, I do not own these lovely characters. If I did, do you think I would share Logan?

Logan

After leaving Marie's room, I headed down to my bike and removed my bag of clothes. My indecision had been settled; at least for now, I would stay.

How I longed for another chance to redo this morning. I would fake sleep a little longer to enjoy the feel of Marie against me, the smell of her hair as it brushed my face, a stolen pleasure.

Growling in frustration, I slammed the door of the mansion. Charles sat expectantly inside. "Mornin'," I muttered, unable to be courteous.

"Merry Christmas, Logan," Charles greeted me, unphased by my angry tone. "I was planning on staying around the mansion today because Rogue should not be alone on Christmas, but as you seem to be settling in-" He glanced at the bag I carried. "I was thinking about visiting a friend."

I nodded my assent and continued on my way to my old room. Finding it unoccupied, I changed into a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, a very wrinkled black t-shirt. It probably looked like I hadn't changed at all.

Marie was waiting for me in the kitchen. Or else she was just sitting in the kitchen. She had also changed, wearing a red lacey shirt and jean skirt with knee-length red socks. Her socks had reindeer and candy canes on them. It was quite a sight. Only my Marie – I mean Marie – could pull that off. There were also no gloves. I decided not to comment. I would be careful around her.

"You look very…Christmas-y" I offered.

"Christmas comes only once a year," she responded, swinging her legs like pendulums beneath the counter. "I didn't feel in the mood yesterday, but I got the only Christmas present I wanted."

I lifted a brow.

"You, silly," she answered my unspoken question.

I probably blushed. Unsure how to respond, I reacted awkwardly. I did nothing. After a moment I ran a hand nervously through my hair and then rubbed my dogtags together out of habit. I concentrated on finding something to say.

Good God, man, think of something. "Uh. What do you want for breakfast?"

Marie

Damn, damn, damn. I had meant him to take it as a joke or something lighthearted. His uneasy silence told me I had gone too far. I wanted to apologize, to erase this moment before it grew into a wall between us. No, better to let it go.

Finally, he spoke. "Uh. What do you want for breakfast?"

I grinned, attempting to distract him from thinking about my statement. "Are you offering to cook?"

He smiled in return, that uneven smirk that twisted my heart. "Well, I don't promise it'll be edible."

We laughed together. The moment had passed, I gave a silent sigh of relief.

Logan

Our laughter relieved me. It eased the awkwardness. So I tugged a lock of her hair, playfully and asked her again what she wanted to eat.

"Pancakes!" I gave a slightly panicked look. "Don't worry, sugar, I'll help," she assured me.

Somehow we made it through the ensuing chaos and emerged with misshapen, edible pancakes. But we were both casualties.

Marie's red shirt had a large floury handprint on the back and she had a streak of dried mix on her chin. She got off easy.

I, on the other hand, looked like a walking snow globe. The amount of flour in my hair prematurely aged me and formed clouds every time I shook my head.

It was all worth it. Not only were the pancakes delicious, but Marie had hardly stopped laughing and still grinned like a Cheshire cat every time she glanced at me. It did my heart good to see her happiness.


	6. merry christmas

**Again. Not mine.**

**Logan**

"So do you want your present?" Marie asked, after the kitchen was almost back in order.

"You got me a present?" I asked in shock, almost dropping the plate that I was drying.

"Well, I wasn't exactly sure when I would see you, but I figured I would eventually," she glanced away, less excited than before. Probably thinking about my long absence.

I frowned, worried. "Marie, I didn't get you anything."

"Yes, you did," she responded. "You're here." Before I could go into awkward mode again, she continued, "So do you want it or not?"

This time I knew the right answer. "Yes, I do."

She ran up the stairs two at a time. I looked away when I realized I was focusing on those long legs. She quickly returned with a box that fit in her palm. It was neatly wrapped in green paper and tied with a plaid ribbon. I tried to untie the ribbon carefully, but with her watching my every move expectantly I was nervous.

"Just tear it, Logan," she encouraged me, excited again. So I did. I tore a little more enthusiastically than I was supposed to. The box did not survive. Inside the remnants of the box lay a silver keychain figure of a wolverine. I smiled. It was perfect.

"Thanks." I grunted, even more embarrassed that I had nothing to offer her. I immediately pulled out my keys and attached the little wolverine. Now I just had to be sure no male ever saw it.

Mostly, I was worrying about the gift situation. My hand went unconsciously to my dogtags again, rubbing as I thought through my minimal possessions. Really, I had nothing at all. I traveled light.

I knew what I would give her.

Happy with my reception of the gift, Marie was cleaning the paper scraps I had created from the floor.

"Hey, kid," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "This is all I got. Hope it's okay. Merry Christmas." Unfastening my dogtags, I tossed them to her.

**Marie**

I caught the dogtags without thinking. My brain had exploded. His dogtags? His only clue to who he was? And he gave them to me?

"Logan. Your dogtags? I can't take these." I held them back out to him.

**Logan**

She understood. Well, she partially understood. She definitely knew how important the tags were to me, but she seemed to think I had given them away lightly. Not true.

If I let her keep them, she might realize that I had feelings for her. That I loved her. But taking them back now would make her think that I didn't care.

"Nope. Too late. They're yours now, kid. Deal with it." I left the room.

Turning on the tv, I found a cheesy Christmas movie and lounged across the couch.

It took her a minute to follow me, but when she did my dogtags lay around her neck. She looked good in them.


	7. down the road

Thank you for waiting while I finished school, graduated, and got my new schedule in order. Thank you also for all your reviews. They are not the reason I write, but they certainly help.

Again, these characters are not my own. I am not that brilliant.

*****

**Marie**

Several months had passed since that Christmas night. The awkward tension between us eased with the return of the other students and teachers. Logan retreated into the role of my professor so that neither of us had to face the uncomfortable truth of my obsession with him.

Other things changed as well. Whether because of his presence or some other reason, my nightmares were worse. I slipped straight into them when my eyes drifted closed and had the dream each time I slept. My screams frightened the other students and no one could stand to room with me, so I was moved into the subground level where Dr. Jean had her infirmary. Luckily no one was sick or who knows where they would have put me. I tried not to feel isolated.

This morning the lack of sun and the sterile white of every surface in my room overwhelmed me. Logan had woken me, as usual, from my dreams. He refused to relinquish the task to Professor Xavier, probably out of guilt that it was him I dreamed of. In the warm darkness of the room his mere presence was comforting, but I hated being a burden so I whispered, "Logan, you can go. I'm up for the day." My voice sounded raw from lack of sleep and the still-present terror from the dream. He hesitated. "Go sleep," I insisted. And he did. But now, several hours later, my slight claustrophobia screamed for escape so I gave up pretending to rest and got up.

**Logan**

Marie had beaten me to the breakfast table again this morning. I wanted to be there before her, so she would not be so alone at the start of the day, but after staying up to wake her the temptation of my cave of blankets was too much. I would set my alarm for earlier tomorrow. Unaware of my presence, Marie slumped in the barstool at the counter. She still wore her pajamas, a pair of grey sweatpants and pink tank-top with long matching gloves. Her hair was not in its usual ponytail but hanging long and free down her back. She looked beautiful, as usual.

But entering the kitchen I met her face, breaking my illusion. Lack of any restful sleep created dark circles, like bruises, under her eyes. Her face was thinning because she was having trouble keeping food down. The myriad of tests that Jean ran revealed no cause for this illness but everyone could now see what the result would be if a cure were not found. She couldn't live without sleep and food forever. I needed to punch something.


	8. the practice room

These are not my characters. I am hopefully going to be updating more frequently and will try to make my chapters longer.

****

**Marie**

Logan was watching me again. Everyone did. It made me nervous to always have eyes following my every move. Almost as bad as the invisible eyes I felt when I was alone. Turning my chair away from his anxious gaze, I tried to focus on finding something to eat, opening the wooden cabinet doors one by one and searching through the contents for something to tempt my nonexistent appetite. But behind me, Logan sighed at my rejection of his concern. I knew it was cruel, but when he looked at me like that, brown eyes full of worry, it made me want more.

To distract myself, I pulled out the nearest cereal box, Cheerios, and took down a red china bowl. I poured myself a bowl, the light rustle of the bag and the ping of the cereal as it bounced off the bottom of the bowl added background noise to the silence of the morning. This bowl of cereal would come back to haunt me later, as most food did these days. I even knew how they would taste on their second trip through my mouth. I gagged at the thought, already smelling and tasting it.

Hearing me, Logan turned, ready as always to help me. But I got myself under control, mostly because I had nothing in my stomach and he stomped off angrily.

And I was alone again. I left the bowl on the counter for someone else to find.

**Logan**

When she gagged, I steeled myself to help her, as I often did. Before this, I thought I would always be awkward when facing vulnerability and illness because I hardly ever experienced it myself. But like everything else it became routine. Hold her hair back and the bowl in place, afterwards offer water and comforting words. It was a rhythm of motion that now I could easily slip into. But the reality shattered my heart. If Marie didn't eat – I couldn't finish the thought even in my head.

I headed for the practice room.

I finished my private anger-draining in time to repeat the process with a student group. It would be a long day, but I could not have waited and fought my anger out with the students in the room. I had only made that mistake once, when Bobby dumped Marie for a less troubled girlfriend. Marie's absence from class told me she cared more than she admitted. I forgot who I was fighting against that day and Bobby would wear a four inch scar forever. Today I would be more in control.

Walking out to greet my students, I toweled off some of the sweat. As always, the sight of Marie took my breath away. She had not changed from her pajamas but had caught her hair back in a ponytail. It was a plain outfit that spoke more of her fatigue than of her normal style, but that girl would look good in a paper sack. I cleared my throat to stop from picturing that.

"Okay folks," I began, looking around my normal group of nine, "Pair off in twos; Marie, you're with me."

"No," she responded, catching me off guard. We were always partners. She smiled apologetically and explained, "I mean no disrespect, but you protect me from the harder opponents. I'd like to try with someone else." I nodded, fighting off my disappointment. She made valid points. I had a hard time remembering that she was a student to teach and not to protect.

Kitty offered to take Marie's place as my partner and we entered. I watched all the students fighting in order to critique their moves, but could not keep my eyes off Marie. Her moves were easy, her skill vastly improved from when I first found her on the road. BAM! I took a nasty blow to the head. Snapping my attention back to Kitty where it belonged, I helped take down two simulations and ended the session. The kids had done well as usual.

**Marie**

I thought I did well during the session, but immediately afterwards I knew I needed some air. The grey stone chamber seemed too small suddenly for the ten of us but at the same time Logan's comments echoed as if we stood in a cavern. I tried to hold on, to force myself to stay upright until our lesson ended, but when the room started to fade before my eyes, I took a knee.

Kitty, who was standing arm in arm with me, shrieked, probably thinking I was fainting. I smiled at her sense of drama. Logan was beside me in an instant, having bodily removed everyone who stood in his way.

"Anything broken?" He growled, crouching down beside me. I shook my head. Not giving me a chance to argue, he lifted me into his arms and headed towards the infirmary. I knew better than to argue with Logan anyway. "Class dismissed," he called as he left the room.


	9. a professional opinion

Not Mine

*****

**Marie**

As Logan carried me down to the infirmary, I buried my burning face into his shirt, finding the warmth and woodsy smell of the black cloth comforting. "I'm fine," I ventured after a moment, mortified that he planned to carry me the whole way.

He muttered an inaudible response that nevertheless clearly meant NO. Logan impatiently kicked the infirmary door open and then placed me carefully on one of the cots inside. Dr. Jean looked up in surprise from where she was pouring brown, bubbling liquid from one vial to another. "She almost passed out on me after a turn in the practice room," he stated and then commanded, "Fix it." Dr. Jean rolled her eyes at him but immediately set down her work and came to me, tucking her red hair behind her ears.

"What did you eat today, Rogue?" she asked, taking my pulse and smiling reassuringly at me. Logan pacing in the background somewhat ruined her calming influence.

"Nothing," I responded guiltily, "My stomach was upset." Logan snorted. We both ignored him.

"Open," she commanded, and I obediently stuck out my tongue. Shining a light to see the back of my throat, she continued, "When is the last time you ate?"

The awkward silence of an unanswered question filled the room, seeming to echo off the sterile walls, but I could hardly answer with my mouth wide open. Once she released my chin, I answered, "Umm…last night but then after the dreams-"

Logan growled loudly at the reminder of how I spent my night bent over a basin, emptying the meager contents of my stomach. I flinched at the sudden noise after my almost whispered response.

"Wolverine," Dr. Jean warned, "If you don't behave you will have to leave." He crossed his arms and raised an ebony eyebrow at her. She smiled wryly and continued, "Well, there's not much I can do for you, Rogue. If you continue struggling to eat I'll have to put you on an i.v."

I cringed, my childhood fear of needles having never been overcome. "So I can go?" I asked, already nauseous from the antiseptic scent of the room. She nodded and I hopped to my feet. Logan looked less than pleased that I was being released with no cure. His worry warmed my heart.

"Here," Dr. Jean handed me a lollipop from the jar she used to tempt the smaller mutants with. "Try keeping down pure sugar and if that works add something more solid in a half hour." I accepted it, glad to see she had chosen watermelon, my favorite flavor. I unwrapped it, stuck the sweet treat into my mouth, and walked to the door, feeling I had escaped from the threat of needles and other unpleasant medicine.

Opening the door, I glanced back at Logan. He did not make a move to leave or even turn to watch me go, instead he watched Dr. Jean. He had always been attracted to her. I wanted to cry. I deposited the lollipop in the next trashcan I passed and headed to my room.

**Logan**

As soon as Marie left, I picked up the jar of lollipops from Jean's desk and shattered it against the far wall. Probably having expected some sort of violent reaction, Jean didn't bat an eye.

"Feel better?" she asked, picking up the glass splinters and damaged candies with her mind and dropping them into the wastebasket.

"Not really," I muttered, crossly, beginning to pace again. "Can't we do anything?"

She sighed, plopping dejectedly onto the cot that Marie had occupied. "This is the worst, Logan. No doctor wants to give up on a patient, but unless we get her away from these dreams there's not much hope."

I moved to punch the wall, pausing as an idea dawned on me. "Jean, what if we can get her away from them?"

She glanced up, brows drawn together quizzically.

"Would a change of scenery help?" I asked.

"It couldn't hurt," Jean admitted. Now all I had to do was convince the kid. I headed for her room immediately.

Walking down the white halls, I realized that I would also enjoy a chance to get away from the mansion. After all, I had never intended to stay and although it was nice to have a constant place to return to, I was not - in any sense of the word – settled. Having reached her door, I knocked.

Marie opened the door, smiling at the sight of me. God, to have that smile greet me every morning… But her face was still greyer than I liked, which reminded me why I had come.

"Hey, kid, how would you like to go on a trip?" I said abruptly, unsure how to preface my statement. I shifted from foot to foot waiting for an answer.

"Now?" she responded, confused, leaning against the edge of the door frame.

" Jean and I think-" She frowned and I faltered before continuing, "-it might be a good idea for you to get away from the mansion. You know, escape." She quit frowning and looked thoughtful instead.

"Who would I go with?" she asked, still half hidden behind the partially open door.

"Me, I guess. Unless you want to go with someone else." I crossed my fingers, hoping that she wanted to go with me so I could get out of the mansion, too. And so I wouldn't have to worry that whoever took her was not protective enough.

She shook her head, grinning, and asked one final question, "When do we leave?"


	10. meeting linda

**Marie **

The wind whipped my hair back as we sped down the empty road on Mr. Summer s borrowed motorcycle. My arms circled Logan from behind in a way that at first had made my heart pound audibly. Six hours later with no rest in sight my fingers were numb and all I wanted was warmth and sleep.

We had left the mansion in a cloud of excitement, both dying to escape. After fighting our way through New York traffic we had finally entered the open roads of Pennsylvania. At first I enjoyed the chance to hold close to Logan and enjoy the scenery. I especially loved the sunset, which we had a perfect view of since we traveled west the entire time. The orange and pink of the sky reflected off the snow banks along the side of the road so that the brilliant colors were only separated by the black lace of the barren trees. But then all color faded, even the sounds of the nearby highway, I-76, quieted with the coming of night. And with nothing to distract myself, my exhaustion mounted. Motorcycling was hardly conducive to conversation!

So when Logan slowed as we entered the town of Everett I was surprised but very relieved. The main area of the town looked to cover about two city blocks and had the feel of an area that was often a colorful blur passing by a car window rather than a destination. As if to prove my point, signs in shop windows boasted, Everett- The Little Town that Can! It didn t seem like a destination Logan would choose, but he turned off the main road and pulled into the parking lot of Linda s Lunchbox as if he had done it a hundred times. I stumbled getting off the bike because my legs were numb but Logan didn't notice.

Together we walked into the delicious warmth of the restaurant. And by delicious I mean you could taste the food without ever taking a bite. A grey-bearded man sitting alone in the booth facing the door never looked up as the bell tinkled loudly to announce our entrance; his food had his complete attention. Across the room, a heavy set woman with three children smiled at her middle-aged waitress and teased, "Linda, it's so good it's magic. Didn't anyone ever tell you magic isn't real."

The waitress turned and smiled, "Wolverine!"

"Linda," he returned, grinning. I tried to see past the jealousy that clouded my vision. And although I told myself to stop, I searched her up and down to mark any flaws. There were few. Her chunkier figure was nevertheless curved in all the right places. Her skin was still smooth and her green eyes sparkled with contained energy. I wilted. She did not.

"Come on into the kitchen while I fix you up something to eat," she urged, "Unless you want to have a more formal dinner with your girl." She nodded towards me and I brightened up. If she thought I was his girl, then she couldn't be.

"Naw," Logan answered, not even introducing me. Linda held open the door to the kitchen and I forgot to be angry at Logan because of the aroma that overwhelmed me. And I had thought the restaurant smelled good!

"So, honey, I gave Logan the chance to tell me. Now I'll ask for myself. What's your name?"

"Rogue," I answered, forgetting that it might be better to have a normal name outside of the school.

"One of us then," she murmured, seeming mournful for a moment. Then she cheered up, "Well, then I don't have to pretend to be normal." She flew into action all over the kitchen- all six of her. She was a mutant. "Are you here about the newest news?" Linda asked, a sheen of tears in all of her eyes.

"No," Logan answered in surprise, "What news?"


	11. change in the air

Sorry. Life gets in the way.

* * * * *

**Marie**

Surprised, Linda shrank back into one figure and ran a hand through her short dark hair. She turned to care for a filet, and flipped two pancakes before she responded. "They found a way to cure us, love – a shot that takes away our abilities," she finally said, bluntly, for there was no other way to give such news. I was so stunned that I forgot to be jealous of her pet name for Logan. We sat in silence, united in our mutant status and uncertain with the shifting world in which we found ourselves.

All three of us remained mute until the smell of something burning, probably a rare occurrence in Linda's kitchen, sent Linda into action again. She served up the filet, pancakes, and a salad that she prepared so quickly it seemed to appear from thin air. Then, using a red dishtowel, she set two steaming bowls of stew in front of Logan and I. We both were drawn from our melancholy by the rich aroma and I finished the entire bowl even though I feared I would regret that decision later. When we stopped shoveling our food enough to breathe, Linda spoke.

"Will you be staying with the Slagenweits?"

"Unless another place to stay has grown in Everett during my absence," Logan responded, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Linda clucked disapprovingly and handed him a napkin. I snorted at the exchange.

"How many rooms should I reserve, one or two?" she continued.

Logan stared at her in open shock at the question. Embarrassed, I turned a deep shade of crimson that almost matched the dishtowel Linda used to carry hot dishes.

"I take that to mean two rooms," she grinned, "…for now."

We took our leave shortly after she secured the rooms. Linda hugged me tight. "Now come on back before you head out again, here?"

Logan grunted, back to his normal, chatty self. I assured her that we would.

The journey to the bed and breakfast was so short it seemed a waste of gas to turn the motorcycle on because as soon as we re-entered Main Street, we had arrived. The house was blue and had a cheery white porch that invited entrance, facts only discernable because of the porch light. Night had arrived.

The sleepy owners welcomed us in, obviously not having expected late arrivals until Linda's call. I thanked them profusely for our accommodations, Logan assured them that he knew the policies for breakfast and departures, and we carried our packs up the maroon carpeted staircase.

"Union or Confederate?" Logan asked, standing in the hall. I stared at him blankly. "The rooms are named," he explained. "Which would you like?"

As a good Southerner, I chose Confederate.

We parted and I grinned when upon entering the room I found myself facing a portrait of none other than Robert E. Lee. Tired and sore, I quickly readied for bed. Surely my nightmares could not haunt me this far from everything I knew.

Wrong.

_They had Logan. The shadow figures. I started to scream _–and woke to find myself in Logan's arms. "Hush," he soothed as I began to shake. "We can't be waking our hosts. Sorry, Marie, I didn't think this one through." He ran a hand through my tussled hair, a movement that calmed me and made me realize how I was clinging to him. Regretting having to let go, I slowly relaxed away from him.

"I'm all right now," I reassured him. "You can go."

"I'd best not go far," he responded, "Just in case." He settled himself onto the daybed that sat against the far wall. There was no need. I would not sleep again. I watched his dark form slowly relax and listened to the soft whistling of his breath. It comforted me to have him so near. More than I wanted to admit. I nodded.

_I ran, fought against them, but it was no use. Just as they had a million times before in this dream, the figures grabbed me instead, forcing my hand against Logan's face. Reminding me that I was Logan's real danger. His face contorted with pain, fear._ This time Logan woke me even before I screamed. I shrank away from him, terrified of turning dream into reality.

"Marie," he whispered, running a hand through his hair in frustration at my tears and fright. "You must get over this. I will not die at your touch. Why me? What makes you fear for me so?" I could not answer. He leaned closer, and then glanced down to where I gripped his dogtags so tightly my fingers were white. A sigh. And then his lips brushed mine.


	12. everything i ever wanted

Okay, I can't leave you hanging. Happy Thanskgiving!

* * * * *

**Logan**

It only lasted a few seconds, but even in that short time I could feel her power tugging at me. I pulled away. "Marie, I'm sorry – I shouldn't have."

"I love you," she whispered, looking up at me with those deep brown eyes and taking my hands.

"Damn…," I responded, looking from her white glove-clad hands to my own rough ones. She was so perfect, so young.

"What? Don't you love me?" Marie asked, taking her hands from mine and crossing her arms.

I traced the pattern of the quilt on the bed. "'Course I do," I finally admitted. "But, Marie, it will never work."

"Because of my curse," she sneered, bitterly.

"Because you deserve better," I returned.

She practically threw herself off the bed and across the room. "Dammit, Logan. Don't lie to me. If it wasn't for this-" She pulled a glove from her hand. "-you'd be with me in a minute." Her voice wavered.

"No." I took her bare hand in my own, ignoring her gasp of protest and turned her towards the vanity. "Look at yourself, Marie. You are so young. The world is at your fingertips. You shouldn't settle for an old man like me."

She smirked. "Old? More like ancient!" I tried to release her fingers, but she gripped me tight. "Darlin', don't you see? Neither of us is happy alone. If it's not my curse holding you back, I refuse to let anything else in the way." She turned in my arms, replacing her bare fingers with gloved ones. "I love you," she whispered again. This time, I didn't hold back.

"I love you, too." Our lips met again and parted reluctantly when forced. I led her back to the bed.

**Marie**

Although excited by our declarations, the warmth and comfort of the blankets and our closeness lulled us to sleep. For once, I did not finish the dream.

I woke the next morning with the sunlight streaming through my window and Logan snoring like a buzz saw, his head shoved under a pillow to avoid the light. I turned to rise and draw the shade, but Logan snaked his arm around me and pulled me close.

The next few days passed with all the glory of newfound love, which made the days bright even when a drizzling rain persisted from the second afternoon on, from Pennsylvania into Maryland. We cared nothing about the outside world. We laughed often. He bought me little gifts everywhere we stopped. He even ordered a banana and chocolate milkshake when I did and let me have the whole thing, saying he was too old to appreciate it. I had never seen Logan happy before. I had never been so happy before. But all new things must fade with time.

As I feared, my restrictions soon created a friction between us. Logan wanted more and more, things that I, fearing for his safety, would not allow. He pulled my gloves from my hands and refused to return them. He begged me to take a break from my endless wardrobe of long sleeves. Counting on his own infallibility, he wanted more skin-to-skin contact. Knowing I was his Achilles' heel, I refused.

I cried some nights, knowing our relationship was failing even before it began. All because of this fucking mutation, this mutation that meant I would never get fucked.

**Logan**

She cried again last night and would not be comforted. It's my fault. I push her too much. I want too much, but damn it all, she's everything I want. I rocked her gently in my arms, stroking her hair the way she likes and murmuring to her, "I love you, Marie. Nothing will change that." Nothing helped. She clung to me and soaked my shirt with her tears before falling into an exhausted sleep.

Once she was asleep, I removed her gloves and kissed every fingertip. I shouldn't have, I know. But I want her to know she doesn't need to be afraid. That this mutation is not stronger than our love.

I shouldn't have. I fell asleep without replacing the gloves and woke to her swearing at me colorfully for sleeping in the same bed with her without being protected. I put on my best "I'm sorry" face, but no luck. She stormed through the door into the adjoining hotel room and slammed it in my apologetic face.

Sighing, I opened the shade and greeted the grey Baltimore skyline. I could see the Domino's Sugar sign, the lovely trash-burning facility, and a block down the road some sort of rally was forming. I strained to read the signs. The only one close enough for my old eyes read: "Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho – Mutant genes have got to go!" Perhaps today was a good day to lock ourselves in our rooms. Speaking of that, I knocked on the door. "Marie?"

No response.

"Marie, I'm sorry," I pleaded. "Let me in."

Still nothing. This wasn't going to be an easy make-up. I went to shower and give her time. Half an hour later, she still had not responded. Worried, I broke the door.

She was gone.

**Marie**

I stood in line at the clinic one block up from the hotel. They had a large sign in the window displaying a free shot of mutant-block, but the crowd of mutant-haters advertised the available drug better than the sign. The crowd was divided into those who were thankful we wanted the drug and those who still wanted us dead. The man in front of me in line, who sported webbed fingers, was spit on by members of the latter group. I wanted to run back to Logan. Logan. Thinking of him reminded me that this was for the good of our relationship. It was my only chance to save our relationship.

"But I like to fly," a little boy behind me in line complained to his mother. She shushed him. "Mom, why do I have to get this shot? You said everyone is different and different is special."

"That was before the shot," she responded, cryptically.

I wanted to yell at her for forcing her son to conform. But how could I from my spot three persons ahead of her? I tried not to think what Professor Xavier would think. I tried not to imagine Logan's response. Would he hate me? He would understand how much I wanted us to work out, right? The line moved more rapidly than I expected and I found myself stepping into the sterile white interior of the clinic in only a matter of minutes.

"Name?" the nurse at the desk asked in a bored tone.

"Rogue," I responded, out of habit, shocked to realize this would be my last time under the name.

The needle stick was quick. I thanked her and left, dizzy either from the drug or my own decision. Stepping outside, I looked up and immediately saw Logan worriedly searching the line. His eyes met mine, shocked. Coming to me, he took me by the shoulders and breathed only one word. "Why?"

The world turned black.

* * *

When I woke, I was back in the hotel room on one of the beds. Logan paced furiously back and forth beside me. His motion brought back my dizziness.

"Stop," I said, "You're making me feel sick."

At the sound of my voice, he came to the bedside and repeated the unanswered question. "Why, Marie? Why?"

"You of all people should understand," I responded, hurt that he did not. "I want a normal life. I want to be loved-"

"I do love you," he interrupted.

"Physically loved," I amended, curling into a sitting position and patting the covers beside me. "We were crumbling already. I want to be with you more than anything in the world. Anything!"

"We could have worked it out," he growled, ignoring my offer of a seat.

"I did," I protested, removing my gloves and running my hand along his jawline without fear for the first time. He closed his eyes wearily and sank down beside me.

"I wish we had talked first," Logan whispered. "This was a sacrifice you didn't need to make."

I ran my hands down his bare arms. He shivered. "I wanted this," I whispered. I leaned forward so that my lips touched his. At first he held back, but I ran my fingers through his hair, down his neck, and pulled him closer. He moaned and our kiss deepened. His fingers began exploring, pushing up hems, unfastening buttons, caressing skin that had not been touched by another in years.

It was everything I wanted. I had no regrets.


	13. dreams come true

**Logan**

Like the star-crossed lovers Romeo and Juliet, which I would under normal circumstances deny having any contact with, Marie and I could catch no breaks. Yes, we were finally free to physically enjoy one another, and enjoy was hardly a strong enough word, but Marie's nightmares returned with a vengeance, destroying even that first morning of happiness.

I woke early, unusual for me, and was running my fingers over her bared skin, tracing patterns on its flawless surface. Without warning, Marie ripped herself free of my embrace, bolting across the room and into the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet. I recovered from my shock and followed her, holding back her hair and placing a cool hand against her forehead. When she had finished, I tugged her back into my arms where she trembled against me, despite the warmth of her skin.

"The same nightmare?" I asked. She nodded. "You can't hurt me anymore, love," I reassured her, placing her hand against my face for emphasis, although our bare skin already proved the point.

"Dreams don't have to make sense, Logan," she sighed, her voice rough.

Lifting her easily and ignoring her protest, which she raised more from our tradition of her protesting and me ignoring her than anything else, I placed her on the bed, dressed in my jeans and a white shirt and began to pack.

"Time to move on?" she asked, rising from the bed, already knowing the answer. "Do you think it will help?" She gathered some clothes in her arms.

"You got a better idea, kid?" I growled. Knowing immediately that I had crossed a line, snapping at her and calling her "kid" were two things she hated, I hugged her.

"No," she whispered against me, pushed away and entered the shower. Although tempted to join her there, my urge to get her away from this place was stronger, so I continued to pack.

"Go, go, Power Rangers!" my cell phone sang out. Marie had set it that way a week ago and laughed until she cried when I first heard it, so I left it…for now. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was Chuck and froze. Did he know about Marie and me? Or that Marie had gotten the shot? Should I answer or was it best to let his questions go unanswered? I waited too long and the call went to voicemail. A moment later, the phone chimed, telling me I had a new message. I was contemplating listening to it when Marie stepped out of the bathroom.

I didn't want her to know Chuck had called, so I tossed the phone aside. Besides, I was distracted. She emerged with only a towel wrapped around her, searching for the shirt she had decided to wear instead of the one she selected before. My eyes followed the glistening water droplets as they slid from the ends of her hair, down her shoulders and disappeared beneath the towel. She smiled shyly when she saw my attention. "Let go," I suggested, and her grip on the towel loosened.

We left the hotel a few hours later than planned.

**Marie**

"On the road again," I sang to myself as we traveled farther and farther south, crossing from the dirty metropolis of Baltimore into more and more rural landscapes, where cows and increasingly tobacco fields or abandoned tobacco barns, notable for their distinct architecture, dominated. I had once written a paper for an architecture class about the Maryland tobacco barns, finding the rural setting more appealing than the oft-repeated Greco-Roman classical buildings chosen by my classmates. The names of the different roof types played in my mind like a long-forgotten nursery rhyme: gabled, ice-box, gambrel, hip.

How did we end up in nowhere Maryland? Logan did not want to visit our nation's capitol. "Damned awful traffic," he complained while plotting out our trip on a map in one of the identical rest stops that crop up along highways like towns along a water source.

We stopped twice, once for snowballs at a roadside stand, a delicious sugar and ice mixture that I had only ever seen inside the Maryland borders, and once so that I could "visit Miss Sally," as my mother had delicately called the trips into the woods when no restroom was available. On exiting the woods during the latter stop, I noticed Logan on the phone, pacing. "Where?" he asked the person on the other end, then swore colorfully.

"What is it?" I asked as he snapped the phone shut.

"Magneto," he growled. "He escaped when being transported to D.C. to a more permanent facility. I'm sorry, Marie, I walked you right to him."

"Save your blubbering for if he actually catches us," I commanded, gesturing for him to get on the bike and then climbing on behind him. "After all, he doesn't know that I have no powers."

"That's what worries me," he admitted, "If he did, we wouldn't have to run." The engine roared to life, cutting off my reply.

The rest of the day was a blur as we raced to return north. We stopped only for gas and each time, I ran into the gas station to care for any of our bodily needs, buying food and drinks, cutting in line and ignoring the angry stares that came my way. When in danger, I could play the part of a scary biker chick.

Our efforts came to nothing, if anything, they brought us to him faster. We were tearing up York Road, which runs parallel to I-83, when the bike flew out from under us. I skidded across the pavement, thankful to be wearing Logan's leather jacket and feeling the biting pain of asphalt ripping any exposed skin, including my hands. I almost wished I had been wearing gloves…almost.

Logan was beside me in a second, limping funny from how he landed, his leg obviously broken and not having healed yet. "Are you okay?" he asked. I nodded. "Then run!" he urged. I gripped his hand tightly as we ran, or rather as he dragged me along. They were on us in seconds. Despite all the training we had gone through together, Logan and I could do nothing against Magneto. He pinned Logan to a tree, Logan's metal frame making him a pawn in Magneto's grasp. "Run!" Logan growled at me again, but the iron in the soil jumped from the ground at Magneto's command and formed iron bands that locked around my wrists and ankles, dragging me to him. "I'll come for you, Magneto," Logan screamed, "You can't hide forever."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Magneto murmured, "Best to kill you then."

"No," I cried, spitting in his face, "You have me, leave him alone."

Magneto sneered at me, wiping my spittle from his face. "Then you kill him." He sent me flying to where Logan was still glued against the tree and, using the bands, forced my hands against his face. Despite all our previous contact, my heart pounded in fear. This was too much like my dream. But in the bright daylight of reality my touch had no effect on Logan. "It won't work, you fool," Logan called in triumph, "She's had the shot. Her mutancy is gone."

Magneto's face twisted in fury. He bared Logan's claws and drove them through Logan's chest until they pinned him to the tree like a butterfly in a box. Standing so close to him that I was almost sliced by his claws, I was forced to watch as Logan's chocolate brown eyes widened in shock and then emptied. With the metal blades stuck through him, Logan's heart could not repair itself. I screamed. All my fears had been realized in that one moment. My scream went on, unending, because if I stopped, I would have to acknowledge what had happened. And I could never survive it.

Then, mercifully, blackness swallowed me.

**Mystique**

When that girl's awful keening finally stopped and she had collapsed, Magneto turned away. "Do we leave her?" I asked.

"No," he answered, "Bring her for Sabertooth to play with." I shrugged and did as he commanded.


	14. death

Thanks to all who reviewed. I normally don't give shout outs because reviews are not why I write, but some thanks are in order.

To **grangerwanabe**, you are correct. I meant to edit out the bleeps (which are so that my little siblings don't accidentally learn certain words). I was too lazy to fix it. Not a good excuse.

To **writer23**, glad I made you laugh. The idea cracked me up, too.

To everyone else, you know who you are, thanks for the support, criticism, whatever you offer. It reminds me that although history is my profession, a little fiction is always good!

Now back to the (hopefully) good stuff, which btw I do not own.

* * *

**Marie**

When I woke, I was caged in an empty, solid metal chamber. A quick once-over informed me that I had little chance of escape. The cold grey walls and ceiling met with no seams, as though they had been forged from one sheet of metal. Entombed. That's how I felt. But how could I breathe? At the thought, claustrophobia that I did not know I had enveloped me, choking me. I panicked and, while thinking that I needed to conserve air, started to hyperventilate.

I closed my eyes and then realized that if I could see inside the chamber I had missed a window or some other light source. There! High on the wall a vent sat. It would provide me with both light and air. I managed, after more failed attempts than I cared to admit, to grasp the edges of the vent and pull myself up. It led to the outside, more specifically to the sea or bay. I yanked several times, but the grating would not come free. It, too, seemed solid – damn Magneto. I needed something to hang out the vent or signal with so that Logan – I fell to the floor.

Logan. The panic returned, a hundred times worse at the thought of him dead than it had been for my own death. Not caring now even if I could escape, I crushed myself into a ball and tried to forget. It was impossible. It was like forgetting your own name. He was so much a part of me, that my every thought included him.

I was too empty to cry. Despair. Pain. Sorrow.

**Dr. Jean**

"God damn it, Wolverine," I cried. He did not respond. Not that I expected him to. He had remained still, lifeless, pale, since Scott had unpinned him from the tree 23 hours, 4 minutes, and 34 seconds ago. 35 seconds. 36 seconds. Each tick of the clock drained a little more hope from me.

Scott, Ororo, Bobby, Kitty, and several others were out searching for Rogue. Professor Xavier was using Cerebro to try to locate her, but something blocked his sight. We all knew what - or rather who - it was. I was the only one left searching for Wolverine within his broken body. The fact that it still was broken made the pit of my stomach ache. He was not healing. Not breathing. His heart did not beat. All my medical knowledge told me to declare him dead, and help search for the living. But somehow I knew that Rogue would not want to be found if Wolverine was dead.

"Wake up, Wolverine," I coaxed him. "Rogue needs you." Nothing. Or – wait – had he moved? It was slow, like watching the sun rise. If you watch for a few minutes, it seems like it does not move at all. But watch for an hour, and you have to follow the movement with your eyes. Like the first blush of the morning sun, the color returned slowly to Wolverine's paper-white cheeks. His heartbeat increased from a whisper that at first I thought was a figment of my imagination to a steady thrum. "That's right," I said, tears coursing down my face, "Come back to us." With a groan, he opened his eyes, then rolled off the bed. "Whoa!" I cried, "You've been dead at least a day, take it slow."

"You said Marie needs me," he declared, his voice rusty as though from lack of use, brushing impatiently at me as I tried to get him to sit again. "Where is she? How is she?"

"We don't know," I admitted. He was out of the room in moments. I yelled after him in protest, but knew he would be gone before I could catch him.

**Marie**

Minutes, hours, or perhaps days later, I heard a movement and knew that I was no longer alone. The cell that held me so securely was no barrier at all to Magneto. No fear accompanied the thought. What did I care about Magneto now? But something made me turn. And it was not Magneto that I faced.

His hair hung long, limp and blonde. His claws shone, even in the shadows, which may have meant morning or evening. I had no idea. But it was the eyes, black as coal, black as night, black as despair, that I could not tear my eyes from. He smiled. I shivered.

The wall opened, more like a rearranging of molecules than a door opening. "Sabretooth, come," Mystique called. He growled in frustration but obeyed. The wall closed. I sat frozen, terrified. I did not check the wall for seams. I did not want to go where he had gone. I vowed to remain vigilant.

He outwaited me, coming after I slept.

When I woke, he was on me, in me. Ripping me open. I was terribly and horridly naked against him. I fought back, tried to stop him. I was helpless against him. Never had I longed for my mutancy before. My struggle and sobs only seemed to excite him. He pushed harder and harder. I cried out in pain. It seemed years before he was satisfied, rose, pulled a pair of pants on, and left. I lay there in the darkness, broken and dirty, tears and snot mixing on my face. Rape. I vomited at the taste of the word in my mouth, then jerkily pulled myself over to where the torn shreds of my clothes lay, desperately trying to cover my nakedness.

**Logan**

"Come on, Marie," I growled, traveling the same stretch of deserted farm road and the sign for "Serenity Farm" for the twentieth time. I was far from serene; I had lost the trail. I had lost Marie. Why had he taken her when she had no mutant power to help him? I brushed the thought aside, as I had the fifty times before. The "why" did not matter. Only the "where." If only I knew where.

The scent of fear and Marie. I was on the trail again! I snapped my phone open and pressed "4." "Pick up, Chuck," I growled, as the phone only rang again and again. The call went through to voicemail. I closed my phone, wanting to follow the trail immediately but knowing that Marie could use all the eyes looking for her as possible. "Go, go Power Rangers!" my phone sang out. Pain at the memory of Marie laughing stabbed at me. I almost crushed my phone on the spot. But instead I answered. "North," I told him with no preliminaries, "We're searching in the wrong direction, Chuck. The trail leads north."

"Logan," Chuck responded, "I hesitate to tell you this, but although I cannot see Rogue, I sense something wrong. Danger."

"Tell me something I don't know, prof," I growled. I could not let my rage and fear loose. I needed to keep my head.

"I will tell the others, Logan," Chuck said after a moment, "Be careful." I promised nothing.

I followed the trail north into Annapolis before the water and the crowds caused me to lose the scent again. I had lost precious time by dying. I could not lose Marie.

But my resolve could not help me find her. We circled aimlessly for days. If – no **_when_** – we found Marie, someone was going to die.

**Marie**

His urge was insatiable. Time meant nothing to me, but it seemed to be at least several times a day that he came for me. Every time, I struggled. Every time, he overpowered me and thrust himself so deep inside of me that my scream echoed in the metal chamber. His hot breath on my throat, his inhuman grunts in my ear, his hands groping me, and the sharp pain of him forcing himself between my legs was all I knew.

Hunger and pain weakened me. He brought food a few times, but I could keep nothing down. I was vomiting up blood.

Only a few more days, I thought, then I will die. Death was a comfort. An escape from this endless cycle. This unending rape. I vomited again. More blood.


	15. bittersweet reunion

**Logan**

I sat in Chick and Ruth's restaurant in Annapolis. Chuck had convinced me that if I did not stop and eat every day or two I would collapse or at least be unable to think straight and be of no use to Marie. Conversations buzzed around me, but I tuned them out. Marie, where are you?

The man's voice in the stall behind me was insistent and obnoxious. "The latest in GPS technology, but it fails every time I get near – "

"Here's your burger, hon," the waitress told me, "Want any ketchup?"

"No," I said. I regretted it immediately afterwards, the burger was fine, but I love ketchup. Marie used to make fun of me for my odd ketchup-eating habits. Burgers, scrambled eggs, bananas, they all benefited from a little ketchup. It reminded me of Marie, the reason I had avoided asking for some ketchup in the first place. But I walked myself right into the painful memories anyway.

"I've called the company several times," the man continued to complain, "They say no such glitch should occur, but I've traded the device in three times and it still fails there."

I wanted to turn around and rip his head off. Why should anyone care that his stupid compass didn't work? Why should anyone care about anything but Marie?

"-like a giant magnetic field."

I froze. Then turned and demanded, "Where?"

"Excuse me?" he said, pushing a pair of rectangular glasses farther up his nose.

"Where does it fail?"

"The islands at the entrance to Crab Alley Bay," he said, "Why?"

I left a Benjamin for my twenty dollar meal and was gone. After calling Chuck, I got directions and sped to the western peninsula of Crab Alley Bay. Any other time, the road names would have had me cracking up like a teenage boy. I turned onto Cox Neck Road and passed Benton's Pleasure Rd. Finally I reached the dead end.

"God damn it," I breathed, looking across the choppy water at the islands at least a half mile away. For anyone else, the distance would be great, but not insurmountable. For anyone not made of metal, that is. I sink.

I borrowed a boat. At any other time, the rhythmic rowing, the air, and the water would have made for an enjoyable outing. Now, they served as obstacles between me and my Marie. Finally, I reached the shore. The metal in me fairly hummed as I climbed from the boat. I was a living compass, I knew each step I took was closer to Magneto, which meant I was one step closer to Marie. So I ran.

I found the compound in minutes. It was obvious not only from the pull to the metal attached to my bones but because the gleaming black fortress camouflaged in the trees could have been created by none but Magneto. I circled, searching for the best point of entry. There was none. Every once in a while, a single vent sat high in a wall, too small for my entry.

A scream. Marie! I ran, found the vent that her screams poured from, and tore into the wall. The metal surface was so thick that it felt like my claws were bending backwards, similar to the sensation of pulling a fingernail back, but only if the nail were connected to a bone and about a thousand more nerves.

The pain meant nothing. When I finally pierced the wall, I peeled it back and leapt in, ready for a fight.

There was no one in the room but Marie. Oh, God, Marie. She did not react to my presence, sitting in a corner rocking and trembling, her clothes little more than rags. The room, though, told me everything. Trapped in the metal chamber, the smells told the stories of her days of captivity. Vomit, fear, blood, sweat, and sex. She had been raped. I wanted to tear down this entire structure and rip everyone inside it into tiny ribbons. But none of that mattered.

"Marie," I called, willing her to look at me, to be all right.

She looked up with a blank stare and said in a sing-song voice, "Marie isn't home right now. But leave a message and she will call you back." It frightened me worse than anything else.

"Come, Marie," I said, stepping closer.

"Not again," she whispered in a broken voice, "Please not again." But she parted her legs, as though certain of what I was going to do. Nothing remained of the crotch of her pants or her underwear. On her thighs, dried blood and other liquids were caked together.

I turned away and vomited. She needed me. It was the only reason I could face this. I lifted her in my arms. She was little but skin and bones, light as a bird in my arms. Yet, she sat rigid, trying to keep her body from touching mine. As I stepped out of the hole in the wall, the Blackbird circled lower. I waved and walked Marie over to where it landed. Let the others deal with Magneto and his henchmen, I needed to care for Marie.

_**Weeks Later**_

I thought when I brought Marie back to the mansion that I would never let her out of my sight again. By the time we arrived, Marie was unconscious. Jean immediately started hooking her up to i.v.s and other monitors that the Marie I knew would have allowed over her dead body. But, as Jean grimly pointed out to me when I voiced my thought, Marie almost was a dead body. She was little more than skin stretched over bones. Once Marie was being monitored and was receiving some nutrition, Jean began to clean her. I refused to leave. Jean only protested one time.

I watched as the layers of grime and blood were wiped away. But rather than making her appear clean, the washing only revealed marks that could not be removed, claw marks down her back and on her breasts, deep bruising at her throat, her hips, and her inner thighs. Jean and I took turns getting sick at the sight. I thought that was the worst. I was wrong.

For a whole week, Marie lay utterly still. She did not move or speak or even blink her eyes. I sat there the entire time, holding her hand in my own. I squeezed it occasionally in our secret code. Three squeezes mean I love you. Her hand received thousands of squeezes, three at a time. No response. I ate because Jean nagged and slept when I could not keep myself awake any longer. People came in and out visiting her, but it was a blur. My life was on pause until that girl, that beautiful, broken girl, opened her eyes. I thought the waiting was the worst. I was wrong.

I was awake when it happened. Her eyelids flickered, blinked, and finally opened, revealing the beautiful eyes I had been dreaming about. "Hello, beautiful," I whispered.

She screamed, rolling away from me off the bed and ripping wires and tubes from her body in the process.

"Marie," I pleaded, stepping closer, "It's me, Logan." She shrank away from me, her scream continuing.

Jean entered at a run, saw what was happening and snapped, "Out, Wolverine."

"I won't leave her," I growled, raising my voice to be heard over the scream.

"She looks at you and sees only a man," Jean explained, "get out." I went. A temporary flashback, I thought.

I did not see her for two weeks. The mere sound of a man's voice, even Chuck's voice inside her head, sent Marie into hysterics for hours.

Jean assured us that Marie knew her and knew that her reactions to us were unwarranted, still, she could not control her automatic response. Finally, Marie asked to see me. Jean told me that I should give her more time, but if Marie wanted me, I would be there in a second.

Warned by what I had witnessed and Jean's stories, I waited in front of the doorway until Jean told me Marie was ready. I stepped forward enough to open the automatic door and then remained still. Marie sat on the edge of her bed, still too pale and thin for my liking. Even at this distance, I could hear her heightened breathing and smell the fear that radiated from her. But she tried to smile and said, "Hello, Logan."

"Hello, beautiful," I responded. At my voice, she rose and placed her back against the wall, closing her eyes against the panic.

"Would you like me to leave?" I asked, feeling sick at causing her such anxiety.

She shook her head. I waited. After a minute, she opened her eyes again. "Okay," she breathed.

"How are you feeling?" I asked automatically, the question that Jean knew to answer before I even asked it.

She paused. I waited. "I don't have the nightmares anymore," she said, sarcastically.

"I would take the nightmares over this," I growled. A tear escaped and I realized her eyes were brimming with tears. "Marie," I sighed, regretting my harsh response. I moved to embrace her and she flattened herself against the wall, eyes wide and vulnerable.

"Please go," she whimpered. I hurried to do as she asked, but could not help glancing over my shoulder. As the doors closed, she slid into a crumpled heap on the floor. I punished myself for days because I caused that.


	16. flight from fear

**Logan**

It got no easier. Each time Jean came to me with Marie's wish to see me, I hoped that this would be the time I would not leave at her breathless request, would not leave her alone and in tears. But I did every time. I grew more and more disgusted with myself for upsetting her whenever I saw her but mostly for eagerly going to see her even when I knew my visit would cause her grief. I needed her, a physical need that triumphed over my better sense every time. I knew it was sick to still crave her after what she had been through, but my body burned for her touch. She, however, felt no such connection and continued to show only revulsion to my presence.

So, I was shocked when, a little over four weeks after she woke, I came across Marie in the halls. I rounded the corner to my room and there she stood, knocking hesitantly on my door. Her posture spoke of her discomfort with the situation. She stood as far from my door as she could while still managing to rap on the door.

"Marie," I called, gently. She jumped, spinning towards the sound of my voice with eyes wide and fearful, like a rabbit unsure whether to remain still and invisible or to flee. We stood, staring at one another: she- frozen, I supposed, in surprise and probably fear- and I – frozen to keep from frightening her further. "You were looking for me?" I asked in a whisper.

"Yes," she began, taking a few steps back, running a finger along the chair rail as if measuring her retreat. I remained still. "Will you…could I ask…" she faltered and then stopped.

"Anything," I breathed, consumed by her mere presence.

"Take me away from here," she begged, her voice catching. I ran a hand through my hair and, at the movement, she stepped away again.

"Marie," I responded in honesty, but careful to control the volume of my voice, "You can barely stand to be in the same room with me. Where can I take you? Do you only need a ride?"

She swallowed. "No, it isn't fair to ask, but I need to be more alone than this, but still feel safe. It seems hard to believe now, but I would feel more safe with you than alone."

_Lot of good you did her last time_, the voice in my head sneered. "Why?" The word ripped itself from my throat, louder and more emotional that I had allowed myself to become so far in our encounters. She shuddered at the sound, but calmed herself.

"What do you mean? Why do I want to go?" her voice barely audible despite my absolute silence.

"No," I responded, in anguish, "Why do you feel safe when I am the reason this happened?"

"What?" she said, in her shock overcoming her fear of me and stepping closer.

"I pushed you to give up your mutancy. I forced you to become vulnerable to make me happy. I brought you right into Magneto's hands. And then, I couldn't do a damn thing when he came for you."

She said nothing. So she agreed. "Will you take me?" she asked.

"Yes," I responded miserably. As I packed my few belongings, someone knocked firmly on my door. When I answered, Jean leaned against my doorway, looking ready to pick a fight.

"You are taking Rogue away," she said, it was more statement than question. I nodded. "She can't escape this," Jean protested, "She needs to face it."

"No," I argued, drawn in, twisting the black shirt in my hand into a ball, "She doesn't need to face anything that she doesn't want to."

Jean got in my face, her eyes flashing but her voice controlled, "She can't stop time. She has to go on living and making choices."

I growled and advanced until she was forced to retreat into the hall. "Her choice is to leave, Jean. And I will do anything to make her more comfortable." I did not dare even suggest that she would be happy. After what I had caused, I was not sure happiness was possible.

Losing patience, Jean raised her voice, "If you take her away, you are helping her avoid everything. How long will you stay this time? When the call to learn about your past makes you leave her, will you bring her back here again?"

It stung. I automatically bared my claws as our voices and tempers rose. But I had no defense against the truth. Jean wanted to know whether I would abandon Marie again. "I'll be there for her," I growled, " – as long as she wants me around." Without giving her a chance to respond, I turned and reentered my room, slamming the door in her face.

**Marie**

These days I cannot help but flee from loud noises, especially male voices. But, I was coming to see if Logan was ready to leave when I heard Dr. Jean and Logan fighting, and I knew I had to steel myself and listen. As I had assumed, they fought about me. Logan defended my choice; I knew he would. Although I could not bear to be in a confined space with him, that was my body's reaction. My mind knew he was my greatest defender.

I couldn't help wondering, however, if he would be quite so willing to help me if he knew. My secret weighed heavily on me, not yet a physical burden but definitely a mental one. Was ignoring the problem really my best option?

_His breath was hot against my throat, his hands insistently removing my clothing. I was powerless. _

By breathing steadily and forcing my thoughts away, I managed to push back the flashbacks. Dr. Jean had warned me that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and said that talking to a therapist would help. I couldn't talk to anyone about what happened. I was so ashamed. So dirty. Who would ever love me?

Oh, Logan still thought he loved me, but I knew better. He felt guilty for what had happened. He could never really love me the same way that we had loved before. It wasn't the physical love that I missed – the thought almost sent me into another flashback – it was the knowledge that someone in the world cared about me more deeply than words. I ached for that type of love.

Pushing aside my melancholy thoughts, I walked down to the entrance hall and waited for Logan. When he walked down the stairs, I tried not to react, but the dark silhouette and his wide, masculine shoulders made me shudder. It was too similar to…before.

Without speaking, he nodded his head in the direction of the garage. Suddenly, I realized that I could not climb onto a motorcycle behind him. I had not even managed to come within a few feet of a man. How could I be expected to wrap my arms around his waist? I felt faint, realized I was holding my breath, and forced myself to fill my lungs with air. I could hear myself breathing too loudly. If Logan heard, he said nothing. Finally, we reached the garage. As Logan opened the door, I thought, tell him now; tell him that you can't go. Before I could speak, though, I saw the car.

It was a Volvo station wagon, dark green with a tan interior. Definitey not Logan's normal car choice. "Thought you might want to sit in the back," he murmured, "and have some distance from me." I almost cried in gratitude. Tossing my suitcase of clothes into the back seat, I crawled in after it. Logan walked around the other side and climbed into the driver's seat. "Where to, kid?" he asked. I shrugged. I hadn't thought that far.

Without another word, Logan turned on the engine and backed out of the garage. As we traveled the long driveway leaving the school, Professor Xavier spoke in my head, _Be well, Rogue_.

**Logan**

Within a few minutes of reaching the highway, Marie had fallen asleep. I watched her in the rearview mirror more times than was safe. I forced myself to concentrate on the road, selecting the exit for I-80 West. We would head to Colorado. Marie wanted open spaces and I would give her them. I could not help glancing back again.

She lay uncomfortably pressed against the far door, unable, even in sleep, to bear being near me. With her eyes closed, she looked like the Marie that I had lost to Magento, all innocence and serenity. I knew that when she woke my illusion would be shattered. Her eyes carried always a wariness and fear that others described as a haunted look. She was wise beyond her years in the worst way possible. I wanted to return her youth. I could not. All I could give her was the space she so desperately sought. So I drove.


	17. alone again

**Marie**

"Five more days," I bargained with myself, hunched over the toilet in a rest stop where Logan had suggested we get gas and food, and relieve ourselves. I was relieving myself of everything I had eaten. The first time we stopped, just outside of Toledo after a good nine hours of him driving and me sleeping off and on, I had not ventured from the car. The very idea of it sent me into a panic attack. This time, though, I had no choice. Trying not to think of the many germs or parasites possibly lurking in the water, I filled my mouth from the dirty sink, swished away the sour taste, and spit. "Five more days," I whispered again before opening the door and hurrying past Logan back to the station wagon.

It took another day and a half to reach our destination, as I started requesting stops rather than wait for Logan to tire. Only three and a half more days and then I would tell him and he would leave me. This thought poisoned my first view of "home." But not much. It was a small cabin tucked into one of the many valleys between the Rockies in northern Colorado. Pine trees shaded it from the front and cliffs in the back. At first glance, I had not even seen it, the wood of the cabin blending into the reds and browns of stone and earth. Once I did see it, however, I breathed in relief. It was hidden and unassuming, but most importantly it was definitely off the grid. There would be no awkward neighborly welcome or curious looks. There would be no witness to my situation.

I unfolded myself from the back seat, grabbed my bag and headed for the door to check it out. Logan was right behind me. The days together in the car had helped readjust me to being closer to Logan. We still had not touched, but I no longer flinched at his slightest move. He, on the other hand, still moved around me as if walking on egg shells. I _would_ overcome this weakness. I had no other choice. After all, I would be alone soon enough.

The inside of the cabin was the size that I expected. The front was divided into a living room and an eat-in kitchen. The living room, to the left as soon as I entered the cabin, was furnished with one grey plaid couch, a coffee table, and a fireplace. The kitchen, on the right, had a refrigerator, small stove, and a sink with only four very old white cabinets. I was relieved to see plumbing. In the back, a hall connected two bedrooms and a bathroom. The bathroom had black and white mosaic tiles on the floor and white subway tiles on the walls. The bedroom to the left had two twin beds with blue and red plaid comforters. The one to the right had a double bed with a plain green comforter and a wooden dresser missing one drawer. Logan claimed the first room and I didn't waste the energy debating who should have the smaller bed. I flopped down on the green bed to test it out and immediately fell asleep. When I woke, I only had three days left.

The first day, Logan and I danced around one another. He cooked a breakfast of waffles (the refrigerator and cabinets were well stocked – I didn't ask by whom) and left my plate at the table, retreating to the living room to offer me space. I ate, thanked him for the meal, and then promptly deposited it in the white toilet. I pulled a Christian romance novel from a shelf by the fireplace and encouraged Logan to go for a walk when he started to pace quietly in the room behind me. He checked to be sure I meant it and then left, closing the door gently behind him. Normally loud as a parade of elephants, Logan adjusted everything from the volume of his voice to the heaviness of his footsteps to accommodate my skittishness. As soon as he left, I turned back to my book. The heroine was a female author who, because of a childhood kidnapping, was traumatized. Leaving her job because a thunderstorm frightened her, she rode in an elevator that became stuck due to a power outage. She was trapped in the dark with a strange man. _Coal black eyes in the shadowy darkness. Long claws. _ I slammed the book closed, throwing it across the room. My nausea returned a hundredfold and I could hear myself hyperventilating. Hugging my knees, I forced myself to breathe and slowly my heart rate returned to its normal rhythm. I had made far less progress than I had hoped. Steeling myself, I walked across the room and retrieved the book, reopening it. The man in the story was nothing like – like _him_. He tried to calm the woman, giving her his coat and talking to her softly. Yet, her flashbacks kept triggering my own. I closed the book and opened it at least half a dozen times. Suddenly, I realized that Logan had not returned. I peered from the front window and could see nothing beyond the pines and the curve of the road. Where was he? A thousand possibilities crossed my mind. Maybe he left me already. No, he was more loyal than that. What if he was lost? What if Magneto was loose again? I backed away from the window, feeling exposed despite the isolated nature of the cabin. I tried to convince my limbs, stiff with terror, to again approach the window. I was stronger than this.

Footsteps sounded on the porch. I had no defense. The door opened and Logan stepped inside. My legs felt like jelly and I slid to the floor. He made a move to come to me, but held himself back. "Are you okay?" he asked, practically whispering. I nodded and made myself return to the couch. He said nothing. In fact, we both said little for the next two days.

**Logan**

I picked up perishables at the last rest stop just outside of Colorado while Marie slept in the car. Only an hour later, we reached our destination. The cabin was just one of a series of places that I acquired during my search for more information about myself. As soon as Marie said she needed to get away, I knew this was the spot. More isolated than I normally preferred, it nevertheless definitely fit the description of "away."

The next morning, I fixed breakfast. Marie came out of her bedroom around nine o'clock, later than I expected and looking better than I expected in jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt. Or so I thought until I heard her vomiting. She said nothing when she returned, selecting a book to read. But my mind went crazy. Were the dreams back? She had said nothing. I had heard nothing. Was she ill? I started to pace, interrupted by Marie urging me to take a walk. So I did. I trekked along the road for a good twenty minutes before the dust and sun convinced me to return. I entered the cabin and Marie, with her back to the wall and her eyes wide in fear – looking at me – fell to the floor. I wanted to take her in my arms. I almost did, but caught myself. I felt like a monster for causing such reactions from her. Did she regret already asking me to help her escape? We spent the rest of the day in silence, but when she rose to go to bed, she said, "Good night." Two words that I replayed in my head far too long. I fell asleep on the couch still picturing her face as she said it.

The next day was the same.

On our third day at the cabin, I woke in the semi-darkness just before dawn. Heavy breathing sounded in the hall outside my bedroom. I rose to check on Marie. As I opened my door, she screamed and threw her arms up against me. "It's me!" I called. She collapsed in hiccoughing sobs. "Marie," I begged, "What is it?" My hand reached out on its own and touched her shoulder. She pulled away, collected herself, and got back to her feet.

"I'm fine," she responded, returned to her room, and closed the door. Frustrated and angry at the situation, I went for a drive to avoid frightening her further when I took out my anger on the walls.

**Marie**

_He was on me, in me. One hand fondled my breast while the other pinned down my arms. I could feel his hot breath at my throat. _ I woke with a muffled cry and, still half dreaming, went to get some air. The door across from me opened unexpectedly. A silhouette with the broad, strong shoulders of a man. I screamed. It was Logan's voice that answered the scream and I fell to the floor in tears. He spoke to me and touched my shoulder. I pulled away instinctively, but it was right. I could not lean on Logan without falling when he left me. And he would. So, I collected myself and retreated to my room.

When I emerged he was gone. So was the Volvo. Had he left me already? It made sense. Perhaps he had finally realized that even he could not love someone as used and dirty as me. Despite having expected this abandonment in two days, I was swallowed by the nausea that I had been feeling more and more often. Embracing the cool white porcelain of the toilet, I gave a few dry heaves and then lay myself down on the white and black mosaic floor. I had been fooling myself. I could not survive Logan leaving any more than I could stop myself from vomiting. My need for him was deeper than I cared to admit. And he was gone.

I curled myself protectively, trying to shelter the shattered pieces of my heart, and sobbed. My hot tears ran sideways to the floor, dripping onto the cool tiles or trailing their way through my tangled hair. Always before I could count on Logan to comfort me. Or, in his absence, I could imagine that he would want to offer me consolation. There was no such refuge now. "He – he left me," I choked out, forcing myself to confront the facts. Hope still had some hold and I imagined the sound of a motor. I jerked myself off the floor and barreled through the house, throwing the front door wide. Nothing. Or, rather, no one.


	18. revelations

**Logan**

I drove moderately until out of sight (and hopefully sound) of the cabin. Then, I let all my emotions loose, pushing the car and my reflexes to the limit on the winding mountain road. Between the ragged peaks, the Volvo passed from sunlight to shadow and back again in an instant, forcing me to concentrate on readjusting my eyes to keep the car on the road rather than on my conflicting fury and sadness, which warred for my attention. Orange and brown stone and black road became the only colors in my world. The roar of the motor drowned out the voices in my head. I felt every pebble, every slip of the wheels. Several times I slightly misjudged a curve and the car spun on the roadside gravel as I corrected my mistake. Finally, I had enough of my dangerous release and jerked the wheel, sending the car, wheels squealing, to a halt on the shoulder.

I sat, breathing heavily. The engine dulled to an idle and my adrenaline started to fade. I found that all the emotions I had tried to outrun were sitting beside me in the passenger seat where, had things not gone horribly wrong, Marie belonged. Anger, sorrow, and guilt jumped me, tearing at my wounded heart. My mutation could only protect me from the physical pain. This hurt worse than anything I had experienced. And I caused it. I took Marie into danger that I God-damn well knew I could not protect her from. Rage raced through my veins. I punched the dashboard as hard as I could, leaving a three inch dent and watching the bruises that briefly colored my skin and then disappeared. I could not even hurt myself a fraction of the amount that she had been hurt. A low growl filled the car. When I realized it was me, I let it loose and cried out to the sky of Marie's innocence. Her laughter and kindness. Perhaps if someone realized the depth of my guilt, and more importantly my culpability, they could find a suitable way to punish me.

I abandoned the car and scaled the cliff that rose from the road, ignoring the pinching of hunger pangs. Once again, the physical strain failed to relieve or even push back my guilt. I gave up. As the setting sun stained the mountaintops pink and purple, I reached the car. How long had I left Marie alone? Guilt washed over me anew. I drove back to the cabin more carefully this time, the darkness of the road making it impossible to be as reckless as I had been and still preserve the car. As I pulled up to the cabin, the Volvo's headlights illuminated a lump of the same blue plaid Marie had worn earlier. My heart filled my throat. What had happened? Throwing the car in park, I ran to her.

"Marie!" I cried, forgetting in that moment her fear of loud noises and sudden movements. She moved slowly, barely managing to drag herself to her elbows before I reached her. "What happened?" I demanded.

She stared at me in shock from between her tangled curls, the traces of tears evident on her face and in the slight hiccupping of her breath. "I thought you left me," she said.

"Never," I promised, kneeling beside her. She didn't smile, but her eyes showed relief and she ever so slowly leaned her head to rest on my knee. I didn't dare move or breathe. It was the first time we touched since – since before.

It only lasted a moment before Marie pulled herself up, retreating from me. Her eyes had regained their wariness. "You will leave," she sighed, ignoring my attempt to protest, "I haven't told you everything."

"You don't need to," I assured her.

"Yes, I do," she insisted, "You would figure it out soon enough." Instead of continuing, she rose to her feet, brushing the dust and dirt from her clothes and beckoned me inside. She filled a glass of water for herself at the sink and held it in hands that trembled as she turned to the living room where I waited on the couch. Marie seated herself on the coffee table across from me, pulling it towards the fireplace to give herself space. Finally, she twitched her lips in the hint of a smile. "I've stalled long enough," she stated, more to herself than to me. She continued, looking into her lap, "You are a good and patient man and I should have told you this before I brought you here so that you could choose not to come." I sat perfectly still, worried by whatever secret she held that she thought would send me running.

Her fingers squeezed the water glass so tight that they turned white. She let out a shaking breath. I fought back the urge to make her stop, to spare her from having to speak the words. A tear slid down her cheek and caught itself in the crease of her lips. They opened and her eyes met mine, a world of pain reflected in them.

**Marie**

I never thought the words would be so hard to say. It was almost like saying them made it real. Only the knowledge of its inevitability pushed me onward. "I – I was raped…" I spluttered. _He was on me, in me. Ripping me open. I was terribly and horridly naked against him. My struggle and sobs only seemed to excite him. He pushed harder and harder. _My own cry of fright brought me back to the moment. Logan's hands clenched the couch cushion and his pulse beat visibly in his neck. "I'm okay," I whispered, the lie obvious. He nodded, no less tense.

"I was – raped," I forced out again, "and now I'm pregnant."

I remained unmoving, eyes closed against the tears that threatened, cheeks burning in shame. _He is going to leave_, I reminded myself, preparing for the sound of the door. Nothing. I peered up at him. His posture had relaxed in shock. It was going to take a minute for him to accept the truth and go. I rose to retreat to my bedroom. I didn't need to watch him abandon me.

Logan rose with me, making me pause. He still seemed in shock, but his brown eyes now also held sadness and something else – guilt? "Are you all right?" he asked, taking my hand softly with his own.

"I will be," I assured us both, feeling the dawning of hope within.

He left that night.

I woke to the screech of spinning tires and the roar of a motor that slowly faded. I didn't believe it at first, but when I left the comfortable ignorance of my bedroom, I found his door flung wide revealing the room to be empty and clean, a concrete sign that he was gone.

Oh God. He had seemed so sure and steady. My world crumbled. I knew with sharp certainty that I couldn't do this without him. I ran for the door, screaming his name. "Logan!" I cried, choking on tears and fright, "Logan!"

"Marie."

I woke in his arms, crying wildly. It had all been a dream. But a dream so real I still felt the pain of abandonment. "Don't leave me," I begged, clinging to him as I hadn't been able to since – since I was raped.

"I won't. I swear I never will," he promised, smoothing my hair, wiping away my tears.


	19. after

_I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and I know I haven't kept up with this story enough but this is all that I am happy with right now._

**Logan**

I woke early, unusual for me but not unexpected after the revelations of the night before. Pulling on a white tee but not bothering to change into a new pair of jeans, I stumbled out into the living room. Marie was already up. She lay curled up on the grey plaid sofa, her head resting on the arm closest to me so that I could not see her expression. Walking into the kitchen I asked, "Breakfast?"

"Ugh. No," she replied, sitting up to look at me over the back of the couch, the two white strands of her hair framing her face.

"Y'okay?"

"Morning sickness," she answered, moaning slightly.

I remembered suddenly Marie vomiting after breakfast only days before. "Oh," was my only response. She laughed, tipping her head back like she used to, as if to help the joy spill out more freely. I smiled to hear the sound.

When she turned down lunch as well, however, I began to worry.

"Apples?" I asked her, throwing one in the air.

"No."

I opened the fridge to explore other options. "Peanut butter sandwich?" I called over my shoulder.

"No."

"Fish?" I glanced at her over my shoulder.

She fake gagged. "Don't you dare."

"A burger? A steak? A potato?"

"No. No. No," she replied.

"Anything at all sound good?" I asked, leaning my elbows on the counter that stood between us.

She arched herself dramatically over the back of the couch. "A pickle?" she finally offered.

I scoured the refrigerator and then banged cabinet doors in my search but finally turned back empty handed. She sighed.

"I'll be back," I stated, determined to fulfill her one desire. Ignoring her feeble protest, I strode out of the house and drove into the nearest town, a good hour and a half away. Parking the station wagon, I realized that perhaps I should have had a longer list than pickles. Oh well.

"May I help you?" the blue-clad elderly lady at the front of the store asked. I seized the opportunity.

"My –um –friend," I began, "She's having a baby and asked me to pick up some things for her, but I'm not sure what I should get."

The lady smiled politely as if waiting for more. I shifted my weight, wondering what else I was supposed to say.

"What exactly are you looking for?" she asked.

"Everything she might need," I replied.

**Marie**

I knew it took a long time to get into town, so I settled in with a history book titled "Left at the Wall" about the items left at the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial. My other book, the one with the traumatized heroine was not to be read when Logan was absent. It got my fears churning. Even without the book, once I realized four hours had passed I began to wonder what had happened to Logan, or at least what besides pickles had struck his fancy. So it was with pleasure that I turned at the sound of the door opening. Pleasure that quickly turned to surprise. Logan was weighed down with more bags and packages than even his strength could handle gracefully. He dropped them and headed out the door.

"More!" I asked in astonishment. He only grunted.

Always one for presents, I eagerly seated myself among the mountain of bags and packages and began to explore. With the first item I gigged. The second caused me to laugh aloud. By the time Logan reentered the house, I had broken into peals of laughter and lay on the floor in the midst of the very thoughtful and not very useful purchases.

Diapers. Wipes. Formula. Bottles. Onesies. A changing pad. A diaper bag. A nursing pillow. Burping rags. A baby monitor. The tiniest socks and shoes. Even swimming diapers in the middle of the mountains.

Logan watched me with puzzled hurt. Fearful of injuring his pride, I managed to get control of myself. Then, I sat up and spotted the boxed crib that Logan held and lost it again.

"Logan, you-" I cracked up. "I'm s-" I couldn't breathe. "You do know that it takes nine months to have a baby, right?" I finally managed.

He leaned the box against the open door, his expression thoughtful rather than hurt.

**Logan**

When I reentered the cabin, Marie lay amid all the chaos with her auburn and white hair spread around her like a halo. Her laughter echoed in the small but open space. What had I done? Whatever it was, I felt glad to have done it. The sound of her joy filled me. It softened her expression and eased the solemn knowing in her eyes. Finally she managed to tell me that I had bought things for a baby not for a pregnant woman. Nine months, she said, nine months to make a baby. Could it be possible that -? I leaned the crib against the wall and stood before her.

"Marie," I started, unsure of how to ask, "Could this be my child you carry?"

Her laughter disappeared and she became solemn again. The corner of her mouth twisted into a sad smile, a mockery of the expression she wore before my interruption. "No, Logan," she whispered. "I wish I could say there was a chance, but I know with certainty that this is not your child."

I sat down hard, having lost the buoy of hope.

**Marie**

I watched in sadness as his expression crumpled. The muscles in Logan's jaw rippled in tension and his breathing became heavy. I braced myself for his swift anger, but instead noticed the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. I sighed and touched his knee. I was so sorry for crushing him like that, and was about to say so when he fell forward so that he landed face down in my lap, crying.

"Logan, Logan, no," I begged. "Please don't." The man who served as my stronghold, my defender fell apart before my eyes. I stroked his back with my right hand and buried my left in his thick, dark hair.

It took him a long time to recover and through it all he never put words to his sadness. I knew about sorrow too deep for words. I had just never imagined that he joined me in it.

Finally, Logan sat up, jerking his arm across his face in disgust at his emotional display. "Weak," he growled to himself.

"No," I insisted. "You're stronger than I ever could have hoped."


End file.
